


Fallout

by INMH



Series: hc_bingo fanfiction fills 2020 [36]
Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: (doesn't actually take place on screen but the aftermath is pretty brutal), Angst, Blood, Child Death, Drama, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Morse Code, Past Character Death, Redemption, Romance, Strong Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27205150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: There are repercussions for Isabeau’s actions in Whitechapel, and Alastair nearly martyrs himself.
Relationships: Alastair D'Argyll/Grayson, Grayson & Rani Lakshmi (The Order: 1886)
Series: hc_bingo fanfiction fills 2020 [36]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789369
Kudos: 11





	Fallout

**[-The Sixteenth of December, 1887-]**  
  
Alastair was somewhat certain that he might be about to die.  
  
The last week had been an especially rough one: The police had enacted a raid dangerously close to their compound, causing everyone to scatter into Whitechapel and most of the den’s children to be sequestered away in an old warehouse with some minders; that warehouse had then been set on fire during the course of the raid, killing all twenty-three Lycans (most of them children) inside. Yesterday they had finally learned that a member of Her Majesty’s Knights was responsible for setting the blaze. No word as to _which_ Knight was responsible, but that would only take some time to deduce. But the moment this fact had been revealed to the den, Alastair had felt dozens of eyes turn to stare and glare and _burn_ into him.  
  
It didn’t matter that he’d had naught to do with the Knights for over a year now- well, except for Grayson, who (in fairness) was not a Knight anymore. Whatever the case, his time and distance from the Order did not save Alastair from the increased suspicion of his fellow Lycans; indeed, he had already been on thin ground for refusing to reveal the secrets of the Blackwater to Lord Hastings or the Lycan leaders.  
  
For the past three days, Alastair had tread lightly in the bounds of the small compound the den called their own. Even those who had shown no hostility towards him looked upon him with fright, like a man on his way to the gallows. With every day that passed, he considered more and more that now might be the time to go to Grayson, now might be the time to pull the trigger on that escape plan that involved hopping a ship to America, air or water didn’t matter-  
  
-and then, this evening, the Vampire had shown up.  
  
“Lord Hastings wishes to pass along his condolences for your losses,” Vincent had said, eyes flickering over the room. The leaders of their den were present, as well as a handful of others prominent in the community. Alastair had attended as a matter of course due to his previous association with Hastings, and had sequestered himself in the corner nearest to the door- just in case.  
  
“Does his Lordship require something of us?” Argus had asked, and Alastair had been unnerved; there was usually a hint of mockery in Argus’s voice when he spoke of Hastings, his _lordship_ , and it was conspicuously absent now. But then, he had been off since his son and three grandchildren had died in the fire.  
  
But even more unnerving had been the way Vincent’s eyes had cut to Alastair, who’d been doing his best to remain unnoticed. “Alastair.”  
  
“Yes?” Alastair asked mildly, as though his stomach wasn’t churning.  
  
“Lord Hastings wants me to escort you to him.”  
  
Alastair struggled to channel every ounce of the professionalism that had once came so naturally to him as the Knight Commander. It was frighteningly difficult to manage it now, after months of being away from the Order and feeling less compulsion to cross his T’s and dot his I’s. “Oh? Where is he?”  
  
“The docks.”  
  
Alastair glanced towards the Lycan leaders, amongst whom Argus was the principal. A few months ago, Argus or Adrienne or any of the others (except, perhaps, for Madeleine, who hated Alastair) might have spoken up and suggested sending someone else with them, or come to any understanding that did not involve Alastair going off alone with a dangerous Vampire. Alastair was, and had been, uneasy around Vincent: He was difficult to read, and Alastair had never been able to get a good measure of him. The prospect of accompanying him through the dark streets of Whitechapel to meet Hastings at the docks was about as appealing as sticking his head into a rabid tiger’s open mouth.  
  
But no one said anything.  
  
Alastair was on his own.  
  
So he shrugged and said, “Alright then, if you like.”  
  
And now he was walking through the night with a Vampire towards the docks to meet Hastings in what could very realistically, very _probably_ be a trap. Alastair did not delude himself into thinking that he fully knew all of Hastings’s doings or schemes: The man had his own agenda, and if he had somehow decided that murdering Alastair fit in nicely on the docket, then he would go right ahead and do so and make his excuses and explanations to anyone else involved later.  
  
Although based on the events at the den, Alastair suspected that no one would ask for one.  
  
Likely, no one would even care.  
  
_Well… Except for one._  
  
Maybe that was why Hastings wanted to talk; Alastair and Grayson already suspected the Lord of knowing about the… Particular nature of their relationship, and maybe now he was going to use that information somehow. Blackmail, perhaps? ‘Do as I say, or I reveal your bedfellow to the den and cast even _more_ suspicion onto you than is already there’? Alastair wouldn’t put it past him.  
  
They didn’t have to sneak onto the docks. Whether it was because Hastings had pulled some strings and driven away all of the security, or if maybe he had just gone ahead and murdered them all, Alastair had no idea. He supposed he would likely find out tomorrow morning, if the news-boys were hollering ‘Jack the Ripper strikes again!’ on their street-corners.  
  
The smells came before the sight did: Blood and sweat and a dozen other smaller, harder to define things. Alastair found himself perplexed by it because most of these smells were human- but then, Vampires didn’t quite have the same distinct smell that Lycans and some other Half-breeds did. When they finally reached one of the piers, empty of boats but with dozens of figures huddled about-  
  
_Oh no_ , Alastair thought, his stomach sinking.  
  
Some of those smells _were_ Vampire; but most of them were human.  
  
There was a small group of children (about ten, perhaps) assembled on the pier, boys and girls of various ages huddled together and staring in terror at the Vampires assembled around them. The oldest could have been no older than twelve or thirteen, an unusually tall girl whose dark blonde hair glinted in the moonlight. Including Vincent, Alastair counted five Vampires: All transformed, all men and women that he recognized at least somewhat…  
  
…the most principal amongst them being Hastings.  
  
“Hastings,” Alastair greeted slowly, eyes darting between the Vampire Lord, his fellows, and the children. “What is this?”  
  
“ _This_ is a chance for you to redeem yourself in the eyes of your fellows,” Hastings remarked smoothly.  
  
Alastair’s gaze cut back to Hastings’s. “What?” He asked flatly, abandoning any pretense of civility or other social niceties.  
  
“I mean to say, Alastair, that I am offering you an opportunity to alleviate some of the suspicion that has settled upon your shoulders in recent times,” Hastings said with a small shrug.  
  
_Most of that suspicion was laid by **you!**_ Alastair wanted to bark furiously. It was true that many in the den had been suspicious of him due to his past with the Knights, but Hastings had provoked those suspicions even more when he’d demanded that Alastair reveal the secret of the Order’s evident immortality. Alastair had refused because regardless of whether or not he was a Knight anymore, the Blackwater was a potentially dangerous tool in the hands of any who had it.  
  
And Hastings was dangerous enough, thank you very much.  
  
“And what opportunity are you offering me, exactly?”  
  
“A chance to exact payment,” Hastings responded, pacing before the children with a prowling, predatory gait; the children leaned away, unable to move very far at all but desperate to put whatever distance they could between themselves and him. “A pound of flesh for a pound of flesh, an eye for an eye- this is the way of the world, and the only way anyone understands the _consequences_ of their actions.”  
  
Alastair understood his meaning instantly; it was impossible not to.  
  
_He is out of his fucking **mind.**_  
  
“No. Not a chance. Not happening.”  
  
“Have you consulted your people on this matter?”  
  
“I don’t give a bleeding _fuck_ what my people think. What they think does not matter, not here, not now: You are not murdering children. Who even are they? Where did they come from?”  
  
“A shipment of orphans from the colonies- evidently a plague of cholera wiped out their parents.” Some of them were shivering, others were crying; they were clearly not ignorant as to what Hastings and his fellows intended to do to them. Some of them looked at Alastair with similar expressions of fear, likely assuming that he would participate in their slaughter.  
  
“And you think that butchering them will do what, exactly?”  
  
Hastings tilted his head to the side, Vampire-form twisting his features into something even more monstrous than his smug human face. “It will teach the Order that for every casualty inflicted upon a Half-breed, there will be retribution.”  
  
“You’re not serious.” It was the first sentiment that came to mind: Hastings could not think that this would be a viable plan of attack; similarly, he could not _possibly_ believe that Alastair believed that this was anything more than him taking out his rage and blood-thirst on humans too small and weak to properly fight back. Alastair knew Hastings’s character well enough by now to know what motivated him, and righteous, pure-hearted anger and a desire to right wrongs was not one of them.  
  
“Oh, but Alastair, I _am._ ” He turned on his heel and started towards the children; they screamed, shrinking back to the edge of the dock. It was a safe bet that most of them could not swim, and so they were trapped between drowning and mauling.  
  
“ _Are you out of your mind?!_ ” Alastair launched himself at Hastings, grabbing him by the arm and hurling him at the warehouse wall. “For God’s sake, Hastings, they’re just children!”  
  
“So were most of those Lycans burned by the Order,” Hastings snarled back, teeth flashing and claws flexing. “Or have you forgotten about that?”  
  
“That doesn’t make this _right!_ ” Alastair bellowed. He should transform, and he should do it now, because Hastings was looking at him with dark, dangerous eyes and he needed to put a stop to this before he went for the children again. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to stop some bloodthirsty idiot from attacking innocents, Hastings,” Alastair warned, eyes glowing yellow and human flesh beginning to peel away. “The last one never made it home, and you won’t either- don’t test me.”  
  
“None of them are innocent, you idiot,” Hastings spat, drawing himself up to his full height- and it was considerable. “You spare them today, and tomorrow they’ll be adults with crossbows and swords looking to burn us in our beds. Cut the head off the snake now before it has a chance to bite!”  
  
“ _You read my mind._ ”  
  
Alastair transformed in record time and pounced.  
  
[---]  
  
The docks were a mess of blood.  
  
An unholy, _gratuitous_ amount of blood.  
  
“This is just a suspicion,” Lakshmi drawled as they looked over the carnage, “But I believe that someone may very well have died here.”  
  
“Several someones,” Grayson agreed with a hum and a nod.  
  
“They have pulled two bodies out of the river thus far,” Devi remarked. “They are uncertain as to whether or not there are more.”  
  
“Have they identified any of them?”  
  
“No,” Devi said, an eyebrow raised, “But I recognized one of them as a Vampire, an associate of Lord Hastings’s. So I suspect the other might be a Vampire as well- or the one who killed him.”  
  
“Such a tragedy; we ought to send flowers,” Grayson deadpanned.  
  
Lakshmi snorted, covering her mouth. “I am well aware that you’re joking, but I cannot help but think it might be fun to needle Lord Hastings with a sympathy wreath on his front doorstep.”  
  
“Just say the word, Rani. I know where the florist is.”  
  
The three of them had their snicker over it for a moment, Grayson in particular able to perfectly picture the rage on Hastings’s face when he realized that he was being taunted by the Rebels.  
  
But eventually the laughs died down, and Grayson sighed.  
  
“We should probably find a way to see those children.”  
  
A vicious racket had drawn the police to the docks; there they had found blood, gore, bodies, and twelve very alive but terrified children. The whispers Croydon, one of Lakshmi’s men who kept his ear perpetually glued to the ground, had heard suggested that Half-Breeds had been involved in the scrap, although the details were confused and scarce. Still it was enough to spark Lakshmi’s interest, and Grayson and Devi had followed after.  
  
The children were being held in a nearby building, a building with offices on the top and a storage room full of crates on the bottom. When they’d arrived, Grayson had seen a little boy leading a smaller one to the lavatory, and a little girl staring out a window. “I suppose we can go in through a window,” he remarked as they examined the building from all angles. “The police only seem to be concerned with the entrances and exits. I don’t think they’re actively supervising the children inside.”  
  
“I saw a bit of a room: One of the offices has a coal stove, and the children are grouped around it. I didn’t see any adults,” Devi said. “But I could be wrong.”  
  
“Let’s find out,” Lakshmi said lightly, trotting to the edge of the rooftop and jumping across the gap to the other building.  
  
Devi kept watch on the police outside as Lakshmi and Grayson entered the building. “Do you suppose we should just… Walk in and introduce ourselves?” Grayson whispered as they crouched in a small, cramped office together. “We’re adults. They won’t know us from Adam.”  
  
Lakshmi nodded, though she was frowning. “Perhaps, but there’s a certain risk attached that they’ll mention us to the police- or the Knights, who will certainly come knocking. It would be better if nobody knows we’re here.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Lakshmi jumped a mile, banging into Grayson and knocking him into a filing cabinet. There was a little girl, no older than nine or ten, who was standing in the doorway and looking between them; if she had been an officer, Grayson and Lakshmi would be dead and buried now.  
  
_We’ve been made by a child- time to retire._  
  
His only consolation was that Lakshmi seemed as humiliated as he was.  
  
“Who are you?” The girl asked, looking between the two strange adults that she’d found hiding in an office mere hours after watching a massacre with only mild interest.  
  
“No one important,” Grayson said, trying to match her tone and failing.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Lakshmi’s eyebrows popped. “Is that all? We could be Vampires, for all you know.”  
  
“You’re probably not,” the girl said.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“The Vampires last night were dressed all fancy-like. You’re not.”  
  
Grayson looked to Lakshmi and gave a little shrug. “That we are not.” He turned back to the girl. “What’s your name, child?”  
  
“Mary.”  
  
“What happened here, Mary?”  
  
She turned, took a few steps down the hall and glanced back towards the office where the other children, who seemed oblivious to their conversation, waited; then she edged down the hall a little and glanced down the staircase, craned her head to (presumably) see the police officers at the door, who were similarly unaware. Then she scampered back to Grayson and Lakshmi, expression serious.  
  
“The Vampires took us off the ship and to the docks, and held us there. Another man came, and he started arguing with the Head Vampire, saying he wasn’t allowed to kill us,” Mary whispered. “And then he killed all the Vampires.”  
  
Lakshmi’s eyes widened. “The man, he killed _all_ the Vampires? How did he do that?”  
  
“He was a werewolf.”  
  
Grayson’s mouth fell open before he could stop himself.  
  
The technical term for werewolves, ‘Lycanthrope’ (and ‘Lycan’, by association), had been the favorite of the Order for many years now. It was somehow strangely easy to forget that civilians knew them by a more conventional name, as a fairytale monster that was kept at bay by hunters and organizations like the Order.  
  
“The, uh, the werewolf,” Grayson said softly, though it was impossible for Lakshmi not to hear, “Did he have red hair?”  
  
Mary nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”  
  
_Alastair._  
  
Grayson felt strangely lightheaded from the realization that Alastair had saved these children from the Vampires. The man had gone from betraying his Order and friends to questioning his place in the Lycans and Half-breeds, and he had now apparently crossed over into actively opposing their darker intentions. His faith and trust in Alastair had gradually been renewed over the last year, and it was dizzying to realize that he had finally been rewarded for it.  
  
“Are you certain he killed _all_ of them, Mary?” Lakshmi whispered. “You’re sure none of them got away?”  
  
Mary screwed up her face, now looking uncertain. “Most of them ended up in the water. I know three of them are definitely dead, but the others might not be. The werewolf got beat up as well.”  
  
“Is he alive?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
“How many Vampires were there?”  
  
“Six, I think.”  
  
Lakshmi’s gaze flicked to meet Grayson’s. He suspected their thoughts were identical: _What are the odds that Hastings is among the dead?_  
  
Grayson wouldn’t hold his breath on it.  
  
“Thank you, Mary,” he said softly. “You’ve been very helpful. Go back to your friends and rest up.”  
  
“They’re not my friends. We were just on the same ship together.” Mary glanced between them once more, and then said, “You should be careful. The Vampires that lived are probably still hungry.”  
  
Then she turned on her heel and disappeared.  
  
“Prickly, that one,” Lakshmi observed.  
  
“Can you blame her? She was nearly mauled by a Vampire last night.” Grayson’s mind was still racing on the subject of Alastair. Was he alright? Had he limped away only to die in a gutter? Had he returned to his…  
  
_Shit._  
  
Lakshmi was watching Grayson’s expression. “She said Alastair was still alive,” she remarked.  
  
“We don’t know it was Alastair.”  
  
Lakshmi scoffed. “Because there are so many redheaded Lycans wandering the city, right?”  
  
“He might be our best chance of learning what happened last night. Do you know where he is? Do you have any way of contacting him?”  
  
_Should I tell her?_  
  
“Not really, but… I _think,_ ” Grayson said slowly, “That I might possibly- I _maybe_ know where Alastair’s den is. Possibly, mind you.”  
  
It had taken quite a bit of time and deduction. There was the process of elimination (obviously any buildings controlled by the Rebellion were out), combined with the small comments that Alastair had made over the last several months that had given tiny, bite-sized hints about where the den was located. It had been less difficult to find than it was to decide if he ought to _do_ something with the information, whether it was to discreetly go visit Alastair or note it down somewhere, just in case.  
  
Grayson hadn’t done either, knowing that Alastair would be- to put it lightly- displeased. He was getting enough scrutiny from the Lycans for his conflict with Hastings, he didn’t need the additional complication of a paramour figuring out where the den was located and popping in for a visit. Unquestionably, he would have gone mental if he’d known that Grayson was even _alluding_ to knowing where the den was in Lakshmi’s presence, given her hatred for Half-breeds.  
  
At the moment, Lakshmi didn’t seem overly concerned with Alastair’s status as a Half-breed. It might be safe to tell her, but… Well, Grayson didn’t need to guess, he’d seen how she’d handled the Vampires in the United India Company warehouse. She might offer grace today, but if she knew where Alastair’s den was located she might utilize the information in the future, whether Grayson approved or not.  
  
This was a calculated risk, but if Grayson was going into a den to find Alastair it was best not to go alone.  
  
“And you said nothing?”  
  
“I wasn’t sure,” Grayson said. “We needn’t be starting a turf war with a street gang because I misidentified them as Lycans.”  
  
He didn’t dare speak the truth, that he’d been reluctant in the extreme to betray Alastair’s trust. Grayson knew how Lakshmi would respond, knew that he would get a blow-by-blow of Alastair’s betrayal at the United India House last year.  
  
Lakshmi crossed her arms. “Where is it?”  
  
Grayson hesitated. “I think we should be cautious.”  
  
“Naturally.”  
  
“What I mean is that I think we should avoid killing unless absolutely necessary.”  
  
Whatever problems he was having with his den, Alastair would not forgive him if Grayson brought the wrath of the Rebellion down on their heads.  
  
“I promise, Knight,” Lakshmi drawled, hands up, “That I will do no harm to the Lycans in this den, or relate their location to the other Rebels when we return later.” She paused. “As long as I don’t see them openly gnawing on human corpses, that is.”  
  
Grayson chuckled, not entirely humorously.  
  
“I don’t think that will be a problem.”  
  
[---]  
  
You see, the problem was that Lycans were subtle.  
  
_Far_ more subtle than Grayson had ever realized, if he was being honest. For Alastair’s den to have survived in London as long as they had, they had clearly been reasonably successful at hiding their presence and behaving normally. On one hand, it was unnerving to think that one could be surrounded by Lycans at any given time and not even realize it; on the other, it spoke to the possibility that not all Lycans were the frothing monsters that had terrorized humanity in the past.  
  
As an immediate factor, this subtlety was inconvenient because it made Grayson less certain of his theory. The little nook of houses in Whitechapel were inconspicuous enough, but they had caught his attention before because there was only one real way in and out of this area, which made a compelling hiding spot for wary people looking to keep outsiders to a minimum. But how to confirm that now that they were here? Grayson could hardly walk up to someone and ask for Alastair, now could he?  
  
_I might have to do just that,_ he thought as he and Lakshmi wandered down one of the dead-end streets that made up the little community. He felt eyes on him, but when Grayson glanced around, he could not locate anyone who seemed to be watching him. If they _were_ in a Lycan neighborhood, things could get bad quickly if the residents got spooked. They needed to find Alastair, or they needed to move on.  
  
“Oi.”  
  
Grayson and Lakshmi turned; he positioned himself in front of her just a little, because Lakshmi’s hand had reflexively gone to her belt and the literal last thing they needed right now was a firefight.  
  
And since both the man and woman standing before them were carrying shotguns, a firefight was the most likely outcome.  
  
“Can we help you?” The woman asked, looking between Grayson and Lakshmi with cold, dark eyes.  
  
Grayson raised a hand in greeting, keeping both well away from his gun. “We’re looking for someone, actually,” he said. “But we might have the wrong place.”  
  
“Wait, wait,” The male stepped forward, squinting at Grayson; he looked familiar, though Grayson couldn’t quite place where he’d seen him before. The man seemed to agree. “Your voice, your face- I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” The man asked.  
  
Grayson frowned, examined the younger’s man’s face more carefully. Had they met in White Chapel somewhere? Was he sympathetic to the rebellion? “I suppose you seem rather familiar, though I don’t know from-”  
  
Oh.  
  
Right.  
  
This was the Lycan that had barged in on Alastair and Grayson the morning in the United India Company House after they’d first spent some… _Intimate_ time together. He’d seemed to know that Grayson was a human by his smell (or maybe something else had tipped him off, the fuck if Grayson knew), and Alastair had scared him out of the room before he could ask anymore questions.  
  
“I’m a friend of Alastair’s,” Grayson said, raising his eyebrows pointedly. It took a moment of rumination before the Lycan’s eyes widened with realization, and he nodded slowly.  
  
“Right… His _friend_.”  
  
Grayson’s eyes rolled shut. This one was about as subtle as a pipe to the head, and he was now reasonably certain that everyone in the vicinity knew the nature of his and Alastair’s ‘ _friendship_ ’- including Lakshmi, who had previously been under the impression that he and Alastair were merely in a state of wary peace.  
  
Wonderful.  
  
“I’d like to see him, if that’s alright,” He asked, trying not to clench his teeth or look directly at Lakshmi.  
  
The Lycan regarded the two of them warily, but after a moment, he motioned for the others to drop their weapons. “A’right,” He muttered. “I guess that’s okay.”  
  
“Are you _daft_?” The woman to his left hissed. “Do you even know who these people are?”  
  
“Shut up, Holly, he’s about as _friendly_ with Alastair as someone can get,” He grunted, and Grayson’s cheeks grew hot as he slapped a hand over his eyes.  
  
“Oh for the love of Christ, just come right out and tell them, then,” He growled under his breath.  
  
As it was, Holly seemed to understand, because she lowered her gun and stepped aside. “He’s down this way,” The man said, waving Grayson and Lakshmi along. “Name’s Ron, by the way.”  
  
“Pleasure,” Grayson said through clenched teeth. He now had a name to attach to this humiliation. Beside him, Lakshmi was clearly increasing speed in an attempt to step ahead of Grayson, probably so she could get a better look at his face or meet his eye- and Grayson made a point of keeping a few steps ahead of her to prevent exactly that. He’d always been concerned about her finding out about the nature of his continued association with Alastair, and now on top of his other concerns he would have to answer to her in the near future.  
  
Ron led them to one of the buildings, pointing to a door. “He’s down here. Oi, hey, no,” Ron warned, stopping Lakshmi as she went to follow Grayson to the door. “You wait here.”  
  
Lakshmi frowned. “Why?”  
  
“Because I know _he’s_ not about to cut Alastair’s throat in his sleep,” Ron snapped, jerking a thumb at Grayson. “You I don’t know. Stay out here with Bill.” He jerked his head towards the young Lycan lingering near the door, who couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen and looked mildly terrified at the prospect of having to keep an eye on the heavily-armed Rebel woman. That in itself seemed to relax Lakshmi, and she smirked at Grayson.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” She assured him slyly. “I’ll get to know Bill while you’re gone.”  
  
Bill swallowed thickly, eyes wide.  
  
“Calm down, boy, she’ll have you charmed in five minutes tops,” Grayson grunted before disappearing through the door after Ron.  
  
They stepped out onto a staircase, which led into a dimly-lit basement. It was surprisingly sizeable, with a few Lycans milling around here and there. Judging from the ones lying on cots and pallets, Grayson assumed that this must be a sort of makeshift infirmary for the wounded. There were many beds, but few wounded; they must have evacuated from the den during the Order’s raid with relatively few casualties, else there were others that might have been left for dead before returning.  
  
But when they finally got to Alastair’s bed, Grayson very nearly gasped out loud at what he saw.  
  
Alastair looked like someone had dropped him down a long flight of stone stairs and then beaten the absolute _shit_ out of him once he’d hit the bottom. One eye was swollen and black, his lower lip was split, and there were gigantic blue-black bruises blossoming all over his chest and arms and face- on the parts that were visible, at any rate. There were bandages soaked with blood wrapped around… Well, most of his body. He looked far worse than he had after his and Grayson’s dust-up a year before; he didn’t look like someone who was supposed to be alive.  
  
_Was_ he alive?  
  
Grayson hesitantly stepped up to the cot, kneeling down. “Alastair?”  
  
Alastair didn’t respond, but he was definitely breathing. It occurred to Grayson that if Alastair had been returned to the den in this condition, he probably hadn’t partaken of any Blackwater; the same liquid that had saved Grayson from ever seeing Alastair in such a disastrous state in all their years as friends. Discreetly, he pulled the vial from beneath his shirt and put a hand under Alastair’s cheek, allowing some of the Blackwater to trickle into his mouth and down his throat. He’d have to tactfully find out later what had become of Alastair’s possessions and ensure that he still had Blackwater to replenish. It would be nothing for Grayson to give him some, not when they could restore it with only a few drops of their own blood.  
  
“Hm.”  
  
Grayson perked up. “Alastair?”  
  
Alastair stirred. Small, stiff movements suggested that he was either temporarily crippled, or was in too much pain to even try. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes, and Grayson cringed to see that several blood vessels in his swollen and blackened left eye had broken; every part of his eye that was not the pupil or iris had turned bloody red. The pupil looked a bit wrong too, and Grayson wasn’t entirely sure that Alastair could see out of it.  
  
But he could see out of the right eye it seemed (it was slightly less horrifying, only a few blood vessels broken), because it focused very quickly on Grayson’s face. He lightly brushed a thumb under Alastair’s eye, hand still cupped under his cheek. “Gray,” Alastair rasped, offering a crooked, painful-looking smile. Then he turned his head slightly, gently pressed his cheek into Grayson’s hand, shut his eyes, and within moments appeared to be asleep again.  
  
Grayson let out a long sigh, head bowing with relief.  
  
He looked up and glanced around: No one was looking, no one seemed to be paying attention to them at all. So Grayson leaned down and brushed a kiss across Alastair’s forehead, one of the few places he thought it wouldn’t hurt. Alastair had implied on a few occasions that Lycans were more accepting than humans were where homosexuality was concerned, but not by all that much. Discretion was wise in the meantime, whether Ron was running his big mouth off or not.  
  
“I’ll be back soon,” Grayson whispered, even though he was certain Alastair was unconscious. “I’ll be back.”  
  
He stood and left the infirmary, hurrying back upstairs. Lakshmi was still smirking at the boy, Bill, who looked even paler and flightier than he had before. She looked up when Grayson returned, smile melting away- he must have looked stricken or distressed, because she asked, “What happened?”  
  
“He’s alive, not especially responsive,” Grayson reported as Bill slipped away, probably off to scream to his little friends that a terrifying and beautiful Indian woman had just spent a few minutes flirting with him. “He briefly woke up, and then was right out again. Honestly, he looks like he was on the losing side of the fight.”  
  
“Well, he _did_ take on six Vampires at once.”  
  
Was that admiration he heard in Lakshmi’s voice?  
  
Christ, now Grayson was hallucinating too.  
  
Ron appeared beside them, looking twitchy. “You saw him?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Looks like a real horror, doesn’t he?”  
  
Grayson nodded. “Worse than I thought he would.”  
  
“Yeah, no kidding- listen,” Ron whispered, motioning Grayson and Lakshmi closer. “The moment you can, you need to get him out of here.”  
  
Lakshmi looked taken aback. “Why?”  
  
“Because our leaders and some of the others here have been talking, and they’re- _some of ‘em_ aren’t pleased with what Alastair did, alright? He went off and attacked Lord Hastings-”  
  
“-he _saved_ those children!” Lakshmi hissed.  
  
“Yeah, and he pissed off the guy what’s been working with us for the last coupla years! Madeleine and Rooker’ve gone off saying that he might have gone and started a war with the Vampires, that they may decide to track us down and rip us all to pieces! How many places you think we got to _go to_ , lady?” Ron snarled back. “We got the Order on one side, _you_ lot on the other, and now maybe the blood-suckers at our backs. We can’t keep running forever, and in case you ain’t noticed, fighting’s not always a great option for us!”  
  
Lakshmi seemed slightly surprised by the outburst, and Grayson realized that he had become desensitized to the subject of Lycans living and behaving as normal (or at least, semi-normal) people over the last year. Aside from Alastair proving that it was possible (both now and as his centuries as a Knight), he had related many episodes and incidents to Grayson while they’d been together supporting the idea that Lycans were absolutely capable of operating as normal people. Alastair was not an exception to a rule in that respect.  
  
“I’m saying,” Ron continued when neither Grayson nor Lakshmi spoke, “That if you want to keep Alastair alive, you ought to get him the _fuck_ out of here while you have the chance.”  
  
“Why do you care?” Lakshmi asked suspiciously.  
  
“Because I don’t truck with murdering babies,” Ron said gruffly, leading them down the street. “Don’t care whether they’re human or Lycan. And it won’t bring back what we lost, so what’s the bleeding point anyway beyond murdering babies?”  
  
“Wait- what have you lost?”  
  
“Our children.”  
  
They turned and saw the female guard, Holly, leaning against the wall of the alley that led onto the street, the only entrance and exit to the den.  
  
“Your children?” Lakshmi echoed as Ron stepped back, scratching the back of his head and avoiding Holly’s eyes.  
  
The woman nodded. “It was meant to be retribution for our children, lost to the fire.”  
  
Grayson’s brow furrowed. “What fire?”  
  
Holly froze, gaze shooting to Ron (who was studiously continuing to avoid her). “You’ve not heard, then, about the Lycan children burned in the warehouse last week by the Order?”  
  
Grayson felt a chill run down his spine; he looked to Lakshmi, who shook her head. “We have heard nothing of this.”  
  
“They were mostly children,” Holly said, resuming her work and flicking the rinds into the bucket as she peeled the potato. “Seven adults- three men, four women- and sixteen children between the ages of seven and thirteen, give or take.”  
  
“What were they doing in an old factory?” Grayson asked.  
  
“The children have a tendency to transform under stress. The warehouse was a place we could store them during a raid, so they wouldn’t accidentally give themselves and the rest of us away by howling or barking or making the change in front of the coppers.” Her eyes bored into Grayson’s. “They all burned alive- the ones that didn’t choke to death on the smoke first, anyway.”  
  
Grayson covered his eyes, shook his head. “My God. The Order did that?”  
  
“Sure as my name.”  
  
“There was witnesses,” Ron finally piped up. “Saw her leaving with the police while the fire raged. No question it was done on purpose.”  
  
He couldn’t believe it. Well, no, actually, he could- the mission of the Order was to protect humanity from the Half-breed scourge. They would absolutely take advantage of an opportunity to trap and kill dozens of Half-breeds if they had the chance.  
  
But _children?_  
  
Something was wrong here. Even the Chancellor, for all of his proselytizing against half-breeds, had admitted that the reason he’d taken in Alastair was because he couldn’t bring himself to murder a child- and to the best of Grayson’s knowledge (which, unfortunately, might be incomplete in this regard) he had never commanded anyone in the Order to kill Half-breed children. It had always been a general, unstated fact (to Grayson, at least) that that was going too far: Killing babies was the line one did not cross, whether those babies were human or Half-breed.  
  
So who, exactly, had done this?  
  
“And so Hastings meant to kill the human children as… Retribution for the deaths?” Lakshmi asked, gaze rolling back to meet Grayson’s. One of her eyebrows was subtly raised: _I don’t believe that for a second_ , it said. Hastings, by their measure, was not so altruistic. There had to be a deeper motivation.  
  
Holly nodded solemnly. “He did. And Alastair put a stop to it.”  
  
Grayson could not divine, from her tone, whether or not Holly approved or disapproved of Alastair’s interference. He supposed it could go either way: Alastair had described to him a hatred of humans on the part of Lycans that was similar to the human hatred of Half-breeds in general. Twenty-three lives of theirs had been lost, and it would not be the first time in his many years that Grayson had seen a cruel revenge enacted upon those who had committed a slaughter. “Thank you,” he said mildly, inclining his head towards Holly. “For all of your information.”  
  
“You’re welcome.” Her tone was coated in a light frost. Grayson began to suspect that she was not on the ‘killing human children is wrong’ side of the field, and resolved to put as much space between them as possible. He motioned for Lakshmi to follow him, and they walked out into the adjoining street, putting some distance between themselves and the den.  
  
“God’s Blood,” Grayson whispered, shaking his head. “That woman was-”  
  
Lakshmi’s arm flung out, catching Grayson across the chest. “Do you suppose this could have been a distraction for another mass migration?” She asked with the breathlessness that came from powerful epiphanies. “That with all eyes on the murdered children on one dock, nobody would be looking at the crates full of Vampires being loaded onto a nearby ship?”  
  
“It’s a distinct possibility.” Grayson mulled over it for a moment. “But why was Alastair present?”  
  
She grimaced, shrugged. “Perhaps he stumbled onto it by accident- or perhaps Hastings meant for him to take the blame for the killings. We can ask him when he’s lucid.” A beat. “Speaking of which…”  
  
“I’d rather not,” Grayson said quickly, jerking his head away to stare at a crack in the wall of a nearby building; it was a futile and foolish gesture, but infinitely better than facing Lakshmi now.  
  
“Grayson.”  
  
He tried to resist, but then reluctantly dragged his gaze back to meet hers.  
  
Lakshmi looked at him knowingly, one eyebrow arched. “I sense there may be more to you and Alastair than you’ve told me,” She said, but quietly, so that no one would overhear. Not that there was any point, since good old Ron had already more or less screamed it to anyone listening.  
  
Grayson swallowed and didn’t meet her gaze. “There might be.”  
  
“I can’t say I didn’t suspect. I found him asleep in your room after you were burned back in July; sneaking into a Rebel compound to be by your side did strike me as a peculiar sort of devotion- especially for someone who’d actually betrayed you not even a year before.”  
  
God, Grayson hadn’t even thought of it that way at the time. He’d been better off than Alastair was right now and it hadn’t occurred to him until now that the level of risk Alastair had taken just to see if Grayson was alright, coupled with their sexual history, never mind their _general_ history, did speak to something a bit more intimate than just brotherhood or friendship with benefits.  
  
Additionally, it was quite touching that Lakshmi hadn’t shot Alastair point-blank when she’d found him right in the middle of their hideout.  
  
Lakshmi tapped his hand, waited until he’d forced himself to meet her eyes again, and said, “I do not give one whit if you take a man to bed- I live in a brothel, I’ve seen things far more devious and scandalous than that.” She assured him, and then glanced back towards the room. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I don’t even think I care that it’s _him_ you’re taking to bed anymore. He’s done something quite honorable today, and paid a rather serious price for it at that.”  
  
“He has.” Grayson’s gaze followed hers, locked on the building where Alastair now slept and recovered. “Lakshmi, I- I cannot leave him here. If there is even a chance that his fellows might punish him, if they plan to hand him over to Hastings or any associated Vampires for what he did-”  
  
“You cannot leave him to his fate.”  
  
“I cannot.”  
  
Lakshmi thought for a time, hands on her hips as she slowly paced back and forth. Finally, she came to a stop. “I cannot bring him into the Rebellion proper, Grayson. Even after the good he’s done for those children he won’t be trusted, not after what happened at the United India Company House. Not after Finlay.”  
  
Grayson bowed his head. “I expected as much.”  
  
“ _But_ ,” Lakshmi continued, “I… Suppose I can make arrangements for him, in the meantime.”  
  
“Thank you, Lakshmi.” The words felt insufficient, so Grayson hoped his tone was enough to convey the depth of his gratitude. “I’ll return to Alastair and let him know of the plan.”  
  
“But Grayson…” Lakshmi glanced back towards the den, raising her eyebrows high. “They’ll hear you, won’t they? Lycan hearing is superior to a human’s. Surely they’ll report you to their leaders, or to someone who will be inclined to stop you.”  
  
Grayson mulled over that for a moment; it was a valid concern. He had absolutely no idea who he could trust beyond Ron (and even then, he wasn’t sure how deep the man’s compassion towards Alastair ran) and had no ability to discreetly slip away with Alastair to a place they couldn’t be heard. Maybe he could write something, slip him a note that he could burn after-  
  
Oh- but it didn’t even need to be so complicated.  
  
Grayson turned back to Lakshmi. “Go home, do whatever you have to do to make the arrangements. I’ll stay here with Alastair and keep watch over him for the time being, just in case. Once he’s strong enough to walk, we’ll clear out.”  
  
Lakshmi eyed him sadly. “Be careful, Knight. I fear there are enough Lycans here to take out the whole of Whitechapel if they had a mind to.”  
  
“Maybe, but fortunately I’m fucking the one with more brains than all of them put together.”  
  
Lakshmi let out a bark of a laugh.  
  
[---]  
  
Everything hurt.  
  
Everything hurt _terribly_.  
  
Alastair wasn’t certain he had ever been so viciously beaten and torn apart in all his years alive. He would absolutely have scars from this, could already tell which injuries the Blackwater would not be able to make disappear. They would turn into knotted clumps of scar-tissue and discolored flesh, not unlike the scars his little sister had borne for over a century now.  
  
He went in and out of consciousness, the dim light of the infirmary blinking in and out. Occasionally Alastair was aware of a hand covering his own; eventually he registered that Grayson was sitting alongside his cot, which he found pleasing; later he had enough awareness to panic slightly at the realization that Grayson was in the den, wondering how he’d gotten there.  
  
Alastair could only attribute the improvement in his faculties to the Blackwater Grayson kept slipping him every now and then.  
  
When he was finally able to sit up and move (gingerly, _very_ gingerly) Alastair knew that days must have passed between his brawl with Hastings and now.  
  
“Four, actually,” Grayson confirmed quietly as he helped Alastair down some water. Alastair’s hands were shaking terribly, and his vision- though improving- was damaged enough that he was having trouble coordinating. “You must not have had a chance to… Look after yourself.” He gently patted his chest, where his vial of Blackwater hid beneath his shirt. “And as you’d been beaten to Hell and back, it’s taken you some real time to recover.”  
  
Alastair shut his eyes, nodding. “Time indeed,” he whispered. It didn’t help that the Blackwater had never been _quite_ as fast and efficient to work on him as it was on the other Knights.  
  
There was quiet between them for a time. The infirmary was lighter a few people now, a few other patients returning to their homes and rooms. Alastair was bothered at the silence, which he found unsettling, but also felt that any loud or even normal noises would be enough to make him vomit. His head was still throbbing slightly, and staring even at the dim light of the candles for too long was enough to make his stomach turn badly.  
  
“So… You saved some children.”  
  
Alastair blinked. “Did I?”  
  
Grayson started to chuckle, but it died away when it became apparent that Alastair was asking a serious question. He remembered a flurry of claws and teeth and blood and pain and sheer, unbridled desperation- and then darkness. He could not recall the fates of the children he had been trying to protect. “You did. None of them had so much as a scratch on them.”  
  
Oh, sweet relief- and the beautiful feeling of having done something unambiguously right. It had been a long time since Alastair had made a major decision that wasn’t mired in moral ambiguity.  
  
“My father did one thing very, very right, among the many things he’s done wrong.” Alastair paused, grimaced, cleared his throat and coughed. “And that was choosing not to kill children. He understood that children don’t have a choice in what they are- it’s more than most adults have understood over the centuries.”  
  
Grayson nodded slowly. “Aye, he did do that right.”  
  
The silence dragged out for another few minutes. Alastair was heady with Grayson’s regard; it had been a very long time since Grayson had had cause to look at Alastair with unmasked pride. Affection, yes; good humor, yes; but pride? Alastair had not done anything especially worthy of pride in over a year, crossing a terrible line when he had betrayed Grayson so horribly.  
  
Grayson reached out, slipping his hands around Alastair’s right hand. One hand lightly grasped his fingers, and the other came to rest on his wrist.  
  
And then the tapping started.  
  
For a moment Alastair had thought that this was some odd display of affection, but then recognized the pattern: _tap_ tap _tap_ tap, tap _tap_ , _tap_ tap, tapping out a deft, swift message in Morse code:  
  
**C-A-N Y-O-U W-A-L-K**  
  
Grayson’s expression was calm, but it was obvious that he had reason to suspect they were being overheard; or perhaps it was simple paranoia about the Lycans and their sharp hearing.  
  
It took Alastair a moment to remember the right combination of taps, which he shakily applied to Grayson’s knee to (hopefully) remain discreet:  
  
**Y-E-S**  
  
Nothing in his legs was broken. Sprinting and jogging were definitely beyond him, and he doubted he’d be climbing anything more rigorous than a staircase anytime soon, but if Alastair had to walk he would.  
  
Grayson nodded slightly, smiling softly. “Suppose you’ll have to.”  
  
Alastair almost spoke out loud, but then tapped again, hand shaking slightly as he did:  
  
**W-H-Y**  
  
Grayson was still and silent for a moment. His expression was unreadable, pale green eyes giving nothing away. When he started tapping again, he did so much more slowly than he had before:  
  
**G-O-I-N-G I-N-T-O H-I-D-I-N-G.**  
  
A beat.  
  
**T-H-E-N T-O A-M-E-R-I-C-A.**  
  
Alastair felt a little dizzy.  
  
**W-H-Y** , he repeats, too disoriented to plug together the right taps for a more elaborate question.  
  
**ONE H-A-S-T-I-N-G-S B-O-D-Y N-O-T F-O-U-N-D.**  
  
The next message Grayson struggled with. The first attempt suggested that he was about to say something about a threat, and the second attempt was a half-formed word that could only be ‘Lycan’. When Grayson made his third and final attempt at sending the message, Alastair already had a decent guess about what it was.  
  
**TWO L-Y-C-A-N W-A-R-N-E-D A-B-O-U-T D-A-N-G-E-R.**  
  
**A-N-G-R-Y L-Y-C-A-N-S W-A-N-T R-E-V-E-N-G-E F-O-R C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N.**  
  
**S-O-M-E S-C-A-R-E-D O-F H-A-S-T-I-N-G-S.**  
  
Alastair swallowed thickly.  
  
He’d had no idea why Hastings had decided to drag him out to the dock to witness the slaughter of the children- he had to know that Alastair wouldn’t participate in or condone it, and had either anticipated a fight or had been looking for an excuse to go to the Lycan leaders about Alastair’s supposed disloyalty. But as he had been suddenly confronted with the potential murders of several young children, Alastair had not really stopped to think through what sort of consequences might follow later: Defying Hastings, _attacking_ Hastings, and then having to face a group of Lycans who were already sour on humans and furious over the deaths of their young ones.  
  
No, Alastair hadn’t thought it through.  
  
And frankly, he didn’t give a damn.  
  
Children did not deserve to die because adults had scores to settle with one another. It wasn’t fair, and Alastair didn’t regret doing what he’d done.  
  
Grayson was inconspicuously glancing around the room. His last message had been long enough to possibly be noticed by someone else. Alastair wasn’t certain if any of the other Lycans spoke Morse Code, but it would be a hell of a way to find out that they did now. Gently, Alastair gave Grayson’s hand a little shake, got his attention again.  
  
**W-H-E-N.**  
  
**A-S-A-P.**  
  
Alastair was almost afraid to ask, but he had to. It took time to tap it out with his coordination so fucked, but finally he said:  
  
**U-S T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R?**  
  
Grayson smiled slightly, fingers coming to stroke the spot on Alastair’s wrist that he’d been tapping.  
  
**U-S T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R.**  
  
[---]  
  
Slipping out was easier than Grayson could have hoped.  
  
He was less pleased that Alastair seemed to have overstated his capacity for movement- it was less that he could walk than it was that he could hobble and limp- but it ended up being fairly negligible. Ron had been on patrol, and whoever had been patrolling with him had conveniently disappeared when Grayson and Alastair slipped out. The man had offered them a brief, subtle wave, and then went back to pretending he wasn’t seeing anything.  
  
(So apparently Ron _was_ capable of subtlety. Good to know.)  
  
There were a thousand things to be worried about in returning to _Aux Belles Muses_ , the greatest of which being running into a raid or Order patrol in the district. Grayson kept a sharp eye and ear out for anyone that might be following them, or any sign that there might be police in the area.  
  
Occasionally they had to stop. “I can keep going,” Alastair grunted, because couldn’t but he was every bit the stubborn bastard he accused Grayson of being.  
  
“Just take a breath for a second,” Grayson responded, craning his neck and looking down the streets around them. At this time of night, most of the people out on the street were drunks and prostitutes and neither of those groups, thankfully, were terribly interested in picking a fight with a man of Grayson’s build. Besides, he’d found that people in White Chapel were good at minding their own business when it came to situations that could land them in an undesirable crosshair.  
  
“We’re nearly there, aren’t we?” Alastair whispered as a few swaying men stumbled past them down the alley. “I’m not used to sticking to just the streets.”  
  
“Yes, it shouldn’t be far now.”  
  
It was a relief to see the right set of buildings on the right street, one of which held the right door to bring them into the brothel. Grayson ushered Alastair inside and closed the door quickly behind them, relieved to be behind familiar walls.  
  
_But you’re not safe yet._  
  
_Not when Hastings and the Lycans might come knocking._  
  
Still, there was a reason there had never been a Half-Breed attack on a Rebel stronghold. And if Hastings was as badly hurt as Grayson suspected he was, such an attack might not ever come.  
  
The main area of the brothel had some customers, but they were tucked into corners with the girls and didn’t seem to notice when Grayson and Alastair came in. “You didn’t say there would be stairs,” Alastair groused when Grayson went to lead him up to the second floor.  
  
“I can throw you over my back and haul you up, if you like.”  
  
Alastair snorted and pushed past him.  
  
The _Aux Belles Muses_ was a bit bigger than one might otherwise expect. Someone had (clumsily) managed to connect it to an unoccupied neighboring building by knocking out the walls and lying planks down in the narrow gap between the two. In this way, the Rebels had an escape if they were raided; they also had more room to spread out, to sleep and store food and weapons.  
  
It was through this gap that Grayson led Alastair to what was generally considered to be the Rebels’ war room, where most of the maps and documents were kept and much planning was done. Even before they reached the door, however, Grayson could hear slightly raised voices coming from inside; when he opened the door, he was surprised to find Lafayette standing in the center of the room with Lakshmi and Devi, both of whom seemed to be trying to calm him down.  
  
When Grayson and Alastair entered, silence fell as all three looked to the door. “Grayson,” Lafayette croaked. “What has she done?”  
  
Grayson frowned. “What?”  
  
“Is it true? Did Isabeau kill children?”  
  
Grayson’s mouth fell open; Alastair was very close to him, and he felt the other man stiffen slightly. “What on earth are you talking about, Marquis?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“It was Lady Igraine,” Devi said quietly, eyes flipping slowly between Grayson and Lafayette. “The Marquis says that she was the one who set the fire at the warehouse during the raid.”  
  
_Isabeau._  
  
Grayson felt nauseous. It couldn’t be right- Isabeau couldn’t have known what she was doing. Isabeau loathed Half-Breeds and could rage against them with surprising intensity at times, but she would never murder children, especially not like _that_.  
  
Tears had filled Lafayette’s eyes. “My friend, please. Please tell me she didn’t. Tell me Isabeau did not kill _children._ ”  
  
Grayson swallowed thickly, a lump forming in his throat. “It would seem she did.” He turned to look at Alastair, who had sunk into a chair and was now covering his eyes with both hands.  
  
“No, no,” Lafayette groaned. “ _Je ne peux pas, je ne peux pas, je ne veux plus en faire partie, c'est monstrueux, c'est obscène_ -”  
  
“Marquis, Marquis,” Grayson begged, trying to calm him, but Lafayette seemed to be on the verge of hysterics.  
  
“- _les petits enfants sont morts et pour quoi? Qu'est-ce qui a été accompli sinon la misère?_ _Je suis un père, je ne peux pas tolérer-_ ”  
  
“ _Lafayette_ _!_ ” Grayson barked, grabbing the Marquis by the shoulders and giving him a good shake. His French was shakier than Sebastien’s had been (he’d once been almost perfectly fluent, but time had a way of rotting things), but he’d gotten the gist of it: Lafayette could not countenance being a member of an organization that murdered children. “There’s nothing to be done for it now, please calm down.”  
  
It took the Marquis a few minutes, Devi and Lakshmi staying silent off to the side. Grayson appreciated it; a few minutes of silence gave him a chance to process what he’d just heard.  
  
_Isabeau… God, what have you **done?**_  
  
Eventually, Lafayette calmed down. He turned back to Grayson, presumably to get an update on the situation as it stood-  
  
-and then his eyes landed on Alastair.  
  
Grayson took a small step, positioning himself in such a way that he could catch Lafayette if he decided to launch himself at their former fellow Knight. “Marquis,” he said softly.  
  
“Lakshmi explained everything.” Lafayette said quickly and quietly, though his gaze was flinty. “I am overwhelmed and exhausted and cannot decide what reaction would be most appropriate for you. For now, I reserve judgment; tomorrow, I might punch you.”  
  
Alastair nodded wearily. “Entirely understandable.”  
  
“I should think so.” Lafayette turned back to Grayson. “I’m out.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’m out. _Terminé._ I cannot go back to that place. I cannot keep pretending that I do not second-guess every order I receive from on-high, and I cannot pretend that incidents like these do not turn my stomach and make me feel monstrous. I cannot return to the Order.” He paused, and then spread his hands awkwardly. “I suppose I am one of your number now, _mon ami_.”  
  
Grayson smiled weakly, clapping Lafayette on the shoulder. “We are glad to have you, Marquis.” Lakshmi was doing an admirable job hiding it, but her eyes were bright and there was an upward tick to her lip that suggested the beginnings of a smile. She was as pleased as Grayson was about Lafayette joining up… Though perhaps in a different sort of way.  
  
Well, he had seen stranger couplings in his long life.  
  
They all parted for the evening, Lakshmi promising an update on the arrangements she had in mind in the morning.  
  
Grayson led Alastair back to his room, not meeting his eye and not saying a word until the door was shut behind them and they had privacy.  
  
The topic of Isabeau was a heavy one that ought to stay between them.  
  
“Alastair-

“I don’t want to discuss it,” Alastair said, tone brittle and cracking in places as he dropped onto the bed. “I just want to go back to sleep.”

Grayson was quiet for a moment. “Alright then,” he said softly.

Alastair needed more time. Grayson did not envy him the effort of understanding how his little sister could have done something so horrific. Though Grayson had known Isabeau almost as long as Alastair, he had had a very different relationship with her; Alastair had doted in Isabeau in many ways when she was a child, and had encouraged her in her efforts to become a respected Knight. They had played vital roles in one another’s lives for over a century.  
  
The subject of Alastair’s loyalty to his sister and his identity as a Lycan were coming into dangerous conflict with one another. If it ended up all being as bad as it sounded, Grayson didn’t see how Alastair would come away with it without any mental and emotional scars.  
  
As for Grayson… He just couldn’t do it.  
  
Grayson could not bring himself to believe the worst about Isabeau, not until he had a chance to speak to her. Part of it was personal, but some of it was also a desire to avoid hypocrisy: Isabeau had been surprisingly, _hurtfully_ fast to assume that Grayson had turned traitor, and he wanted to…  
  
…He wanted to be _better_ than that.  
  
Grayson did not want to make assumptions before he had all the information. He wanted to give people he trusted a chance before he condemned them as monsters and traitors and all-around terrible people. He did not want to do to others what was done to him so quickly and unjustly.  
  
_I will find Isabeau before we leave,_ he resolved as he crawled into bed with Alastair, arranging himself carefully so as not to press against still-healing wounds. _And I will ask her for an explanation. I will ask her why, and if she knew_.  
  
_She will be horrified._  
  
_She will be sorry._  
  
_She will regret what she has done, and she will be the same compassionate person I’ve known for centuries._  
  
That was what Grayson told himself, anyway.  
  
How else could he hope to sleep?  
  
-End

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> “Je ne peux pas, je ne peux pas, je ne veux plus en faire partie, c'est monstrueux, c'est obscène-” = “I can't, I can't, I don't want to be in it anymore, it's monstrous, it's obscene-”
> 
> “-les petits enfants sont morts et pour quoi? Qu'est-ce qui a été accompli sinon la misère? Je suis un père, je ne peux pas tolérer-” = “-little children are dead and for what? What has been accomplished if not misery? I am a father, I cannot tolerate-“
> 
> Terminé = Finished


End file.
